Murder
by Kitty29
Summary: Canada enjoyed killing. It was just the way he relaxed.
1. No One Needs to Know

**Hello everyone! Kitty29 here with a oneshot written at 3 in the morning(Haven't done this is a while, feels nice).  
This is what happens when you discover the snapped-Canada club on Deviantart lol.**

**Enjoy and please leave a review.  


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**Canada enjoyed killing.

It was strange. A peaceful, tolerate country as sweet and loving as Canada enjoying something as dreadful as the murder of a human being. He himself didn't believe it sometimes but that was just the way he was. It was just the way he relaxed.

Some nations painted. Some had sex.

He killed.

He still remembered when he first killed a person. Everyone did. It was during war, a time when most persons were forced to kill another. It was a terrible experience. An experience that brought him many sleepless nights filled with horrifying nightmares. An experience that he never wished to repeat. However, it was after that event that he began to have...urges.

It was frightening. He was sick with himself for feeling such things but at the same time excited. Just thinking about it sent a electric pulse through his body. But he resisted. Pushed down his desires until they became nothing more than a persistent buzzing in the back of his skill. And there it stayed. Though as the decades passed the buzzing grew louder. More demanding. And one day he finally succumbed.

He wasn't sure what the final thing that brought him over the edge was exactly. Perhaps it was just that one extra person who ignored him. That one extra person that harmed him thinking he to be his ignorant neighbour. That one extra 'who' from the companion he spent his whole presence with. Whatever the case, that night he found himself luring a prostitute back to his house.

He could barely even think straight through the overwhelming excitement he felt as he drove. He was about to commit first degree murder. He was absolutely disgusted with himself. But everything about it just seemed so...erotic.

And dammit he enjoyed himself. He enjoyed every panic filled shrieking blood dripping second.

His body trembled with ecstasy when his knife pieced through the smooth skin. His heart skipped a beat when she tried to escape even with the crimson fluids flooding down her. Pleasure built inside him each time the sharp blade thrust inside the whore. His head buzzed in a blissful high when he cut up the corpse to transport. He shivered with delight when he dug the ditch out in the middle of no where. By the time her pieces were covered with dirt he found himself feeling complete.

Never had he felt so peaceful than he did at that moment. Never had that smile on his face been more genuine then it was in that moment. Never had he felt so spiritually, mentally, even sexually fulfilled and satisfied than in that moment. Never had he ever felt more like...more like...

More like Matthew Williams.

So he continued. Whenever being forgotten, mistaken, or ignored ever became to much, he would find a new victim. It was just the way he relaxed. Some nations painted. Some had sex. He killed.

Every moment of it released him from his life as Canada. From the finding of the people with no backgrounds to shovelling the last bit of dirt over their detached limbs.

_Ding Dong_

The cleaver paused mid swing as the warning bounced off the walls and into his ears. His mind snapped back into reality. That's right. His 'family' was coming over for lunch today. In all his excitement of running into the next victim the appointment had completely slipped his mind. He quickly threw the corpse into the now red bathtub and looked at himself in the mirror. Blood spatter marred his clothes and face but luckily not his hair. Cleaning would only take a few moments.

The ringing only increased tenfold as the clean Canadian made his way to the large oak doors. He unlocked and opened them, revealing the faces of those he grew up with.

"Hey Canada." The representation of America greeted before walking past the owner and into the house, not even waiting to be invited in.

"Canada," England greeted next with the slightest dip of his head. "It's nice to see you again lad." And just like America, he walked right past the blond and into the house.

Canada couldn't help the frown that came across his features when he glanced back at the two nations. It seemed that even politeness was only to be wasted upon him. He wished to be back upstairs with his bloody cleaver.

"Do not mind them._"_ France smiled though it slipped a little when his eyes wondered down to his cheek. "Uh, Canada_..._you have something on your..."

Canad reached up and swiped the substance off his face.

_Blood._

In his rush to clean himself up he missed it. He licked the substance off his hand with a smile. "Ketchup." He lied. He stepped aside. "Please, come in."

France mumbled his thanks as he did so. Canada locked the door behind him. He knew he would have to remain as neutral as possible to avoid suspicion. They didn't need to know about the body in the bath room. It was just the way he relaxed.

"Oh, don't use the upstairs bathroom, eh?" Some nations painted. "There's something wrong with the plumbing." Some had sex. "The bathtubs already over flooded."

Matthew Williams killed.


	2. Then Again

**Hello everyone! Kitty29 Here with the alternative chapter of Murder. I know I said that it was only gonna be a one shot, but I started having ideas for it, and after the power outage over here I wrote up this. Sooooo...I think I might just continue this and go back to it every once in a while ^^**

**Now this chapter is a bit sick I admit, I actually felt a bit queasy just writing it lol. So those with a weak stomach I don't recommend reading...  
This is the Alternative to the last chapter starting about halfway through the last one.**

**Enjoy and please review.**

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_Ding Dong_

The cleaver paused mid swing as the warning bounced off the walls and into his ears. His mind snapped back into reality. That's right. His family was coming over for lunch today. In all his excitement of killing the next victim the appointment had completely slipped his mind. He quickly throw the corpse into the now red bathtub and looked at himself in the mirror. Blood spatter marred his clothes and face but luckily not his hair. Cleaning would only take a few moments.

The ringing only increased tenfold as the clean Canadian made his way to the large oak doors. He unlocked and opened them, revealing the faces of those he grew up with.

"Hey Canada." The representation of America greeted before walking past the owner and into the house, not even waiting to be invited it.

"Canada," England greeted next with the slightest dip of the head. "It's nice to see you again lad." And just like America, he walked right past the blond and into the house.

Canada couldn't help the frown that came across his features when he glanced back at the two nations. It seemed that even politeness was only to be wasted upon him. He wished to be back upstairs with his bloody cleaver.

"Do not mind them._"_ France smiled though it slipped a little when his eyes wondered down to his cheek. "Uh, Canada_..._you have something on your...I'll get it." France reached forward and swiped the substance off his face.

_Blood._

He looked at it for a bit before he smirked and licked the substance off his hands. "Couldn't even wait until we came?"

Canada could do nothing but shrug sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I just grew too excited..."

France shook his head with a laugh before he walked into the building as well. "Oh Matthew, Matthew. Control is a virtue, you know?"

Canada locked the door behind him and smiled. His family knew of his relaxation technique. He told them.

"What? You mean there's a victim? Here?" Alfred couldn't stop the smile that spread on his face. "Awesome! Can we see her?"

In turn they told him theirs. They were all fairly surprised to find that they all had similar techniques.

Canada nodded. "Sure, she's just upstairs." He led the way to the upper floor, the three males following closely behind. It didn't take long to reach the bathroom is which she was laying. He didn't even close the door.

England was the first to step forward and look at the body.

England enjoyed torture. Mostly mental torture though there were some physical elements to it as well. He couldn't explain why he enjoyed it. There was just something about picking apart a persons mind piece by piece that was oddly satisfying. Also watching his victims cry in agony as a saw slowly cut off their legs over a cup of tea never failed to relax.

His nose twitched in disgust. He clearly didn't have the same enthusiasm for dead bodies as his former colony. "A little sloppy on this one don't you think, Matthew?"

Matthew pouted and hung his head. It was true, this one he was just so excited to stab that he didn't spend as much time perfecting it as he did with some of the others.

France walked up to the bathtub, careful to avoid any pools of blood, and glanced inside. "She looks fine, _Matheiu." _He turned and winked at him and Matthew felt his cheeks heat up at the complaint. France looked back at the girl and clicked his tongue. _"_She..._was_ quite beautiful. It's a pity she is dead."

France enjoyed rape. It didn't matter if he was the one doing the act or if it was he in turn being the victim. He had explained that being the country of love it was almost a duty to make love to others. And he did. Many, many times in his long life. Frankly, he was bored of it. Rape always seemed to bring something new and exciting. Whither it was a new scream of a new set of nails. Sometimes when England was done with his victims he sent them to France. Though only the ones that still had half a mind to realize when they were in pain and react.

America was the last to look at the body. He didn't walk up to the tub like the other two. No, he quite literally crawled. He didn't seem to care that the act caused his pants to become soiled with crimson. He pulled himself into the bath and placed his knees on each side of the body.

"You know, Mattie." He wiped the drool off his lip before continuing. "You're the only person who gets me just what I want for lunch."

America enjoyed cannibalism. Though he refused to call it that. He was a nation. He didn't eat other nations, just humans. Technically he wasn't a cannibal—was his excuse. He explained that he particularly enjoyed eating his own people. Said that it gave back some of the strength that they had 'stolen' from him for simply being alive. Though even if they weren't American he still enjoyed it. It certainly wasn't like him to be picky. Canada always saved at least a leg of his victims for his brother. Sometimes even made them into burgers, if the mood stuck.

"Sorry she's a bit wet, Alfred." Canada apologized. "I wanted to wash her before you—"

America held up a hand to stop him, his eyes never leaving the body. She was plump, tender. Almost too good to be true. "Diseases? STD's?"

Canada shook his head. "No, she's clean. I checked."

America smiled, his eyes shining with hunger. "Epic. Arthur pass me the cleaver."

England wondered how the other knew of the cleaver, seeing as he never took his eyes off the body. Nevertheless, he picked the bloodied object off the ground and handed it to the eager male. America wasted no time in slicing himself a hearty slab of flesh. He throw his head back and dangled the meat above his mouth, briefly finding amusement in trying to catch the droplets of crimson before he lowered it into his mouth. Surprisingly, he didn't devour it like he usually did with food. Rather, he savoured each morsel of it. Making sure to suck off all the blood before allowing any more of it to enter his mouth.

"Ugh, _Alfred_."

"_Mon __dieu.__.."_

Both England and France looked away from the blond, the sight leaving them both queasy. Canada was the only one who could stomach watching. Actually, he enjoyed watching. Though his hobby didn't include taste, he could still understand the pure spiritual fulfilment his brother was feeling as each bit of meat passed his lips. So he watched. Watched until the flesh disappeared from sight and America was left licking his fingers, still hungering for more.

"You guys go ahead," America said already slicing his second helping. "I already got my meal right here."

France and England both wasted no time in following what the other suggested. Canada threw one last smile at his brother before he also left.

They were nations. They had seen and lived through more things than one should ever be allowed. They were messed up but not crazy. No, not insane. They had ways to keep themselves going. They had family. They had love. They had ways to relax.

Some of them painted. Some had sex. Arthur Kirkland tortured. Francis Bonnefoy raped. Alfred F. Jones ate people.

Matthew Williams killled.


	3. Nation to Nation

**Hahaha, seriosuly what's wrong with me that I continue writing these kinds of story's ohhh ddeeaar.**

**Anyways, this is just one that's been in my documents for a while and for some reason I decided today I had to complete it. Which I did. Who needs dinner when you have fanfiction! Ohohohoho  
Sigh.**

**Anyways thank you **zzzChocolatezzz, bombayxprodigy, ImaduckQuaQua, Frozenbreath, CosplayerRoleplayer, Naruta13, nv mgxjgxjgx, zero434, HisokaYukiko, EarasingRocketTips, SuperMiniMutt, Mari-chan2015, A Bleach-Drinking Hetalian, luthinuvielle, DearlyBeloved-13, cross-over-lover232, FindRevolution, misterhussie, allavengedromance, Kendall N.S, Yaoi'sWhore, mishaspanties, PolishPrincess, Shinigami-cat, Jack T. R, graysam, Spaghetti13, Sparkstorm57, APH1168kittens, chocolateCake27, SilverReader **and** TinaBanina96 **for the reviews!**

**Warning! Hardcore Sibling Hardcoreness between Canada and America! How Hardcore? I think you can figure it out when you reach the forth paragraph.**

**Please enjoy and tell me what you think! Or even suggestions on other little twisted one shots you want to see I dunno. I'm all ears!(or...reading eyes)**

**Enjoy!**

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It was a funny thing this being a nation. Because they are 'nations' technically the only time in which they are truly allowed to die was when their nation did. This is why many of their kind have this notion that they _can't_die.

This is untrue.

They may be freaks but their insides were still that of an unaging human. There are actually two ways in which one can kill a personification of a nation. The first way was obvious. Bring down the nation itself and the personification would fall as well; though the task was obviously much easier said than done. The second way was much easier. Kill them the way one would kill a normal person. Shoot them, burn them, stab them, gas them, really, anyway would work. The only problem with this method was that it wasn't permanent. Yes, they do die in the sense that their heart stops and their body goes cold but approximately three days after the killing, the nation will wake at their home with nothing but a scar, a migraine and a complete memory void of the twenty four hours proceeding their death (which led many nations to believe that Jesus himself was a nation). Which would led us to this,

"I'm going to kill you."

America almost wished he could say the words surprised him but it did the opposite. It amused him. "Okay, I'll bit, _bro_." He decided, placing his drink on the coffee table in front of him. "Why are you going to kill me?"

Canada simply stared at his louder twin. The calculated coldness of his expression should have set more than a few warning bells off in America's head but it didn't. How could it? To him Canada was nothing more than his quiet twin brother. His over looked neighbour to the north in which he shared nearly everything with. Canada, loyal and predicable Canada who hasn't been able to surprise in over two hundred years. Even the discovering of his relaxation methods did little to shock him.

"Well, I've been really stressed this last month." Canada admitted, leaning forward to pick up the pitcher of lemonade and refill his brother's glass. As he was moving to pour his own his arm brushed against the pair of steel knitting needles that apparently England had gifted to him some odd decades earlier. America joked about him becoming a stereotypical old woman like their former mentor but Canada just replied that he hadn't used them as much as he should and was toying around with him just before he had arrived. "I've tried different ways to distress but…I know you know how I like to relax."

He glanced up and smiled and America smiled right back. Yes, of course he knew how he liked to relax. America loved knowing of juicy tidbits and he was pleased to say that his brother's relaxation technique was one of the juiciest secrets that he had the pleasure of keeping. "Yeah course I know! But you do know I'm not a prostitute with no next of kin, right? I'm America! The only super power in the whole world and also, you know, your _twin _brother. Not following why you'd want to kill me so far."

"You were a challenge." Canada replied conversationally, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs and taking a sip of his beverage.

"'Were'?" America repeated, raising a questioning eyebrow. "You make it sound like you already killed me."

Canada's smile widened in response and it was then that America should have been unsettled. He wasn't. He crossed his arms and smirked triumphantly. "Alright. If you really are going to kill me or whatever than why didn't you just do it instead of hanging out?"

Canada frowned, slightly put off. "You mean just want until your back is turned and stab you in the back? That's really _mean_ don't you think?"

America shrugged. "I've done worse in war."

"This isn't about war. This is about downtime."

He shrugged again. "Alright so—"

"I wanted you to know how much trouble I went to get to this point." Canada interrupted, looking a little more eager than when they started this conversation. He unfurled his legs and placed his half drunk drink on the table before scooting himself closer to the edge of the seat. He reached into his pocket and procured his cell, allowing himself a moment to toy with it until he found what he was looking for.

"Eight thirty six PM, July sixteenth—about twenty two hours ago if my watch is right." He paused to look at America with a small shallow smile before his attention was back on the phone. "'Hello Alfred. It's been a while since we've gotten together. Are you free tomorrow?'"

Alfred remembered those words. They were from a text he had received just at the time Canada had previously stated. Canada continued from the text America had sent back. "'Sure sounds sweet! Mind if I bring some movies? Kiku said these ones were so scary he couldn't sleep for weeks!'

'Are you sure _you_ can handle it? My bed's small enough with Kumalaco in it.'

'Super Hero Certified sure! I'll be there around noon!'"

Canada tapped on his phone's touch screen a few times before he continued to speak. "'Warning, Top Secret, US personal only'. Name, Alfred F. Jones. Supposed Age, twenty one.'"

America's eyes widened when he realized Canada had gone from reading a simple friendly text message to his personal files which were only to be viewed by the highest of the high ranking American Officers.

"'Hair, golden blond. Eyes, ocean blue. Weight, one hundred and sixty four pounds. Height, five feet eleven inches. Additional notes, though is seemingly immortal and equipped with enhanced strength and durably his body seemed to be just as sustainable to damage as a normally trained soldier.' Interesting…"

America swallowed thickly and it was at this point he had begun to feel unease build in his stomach. Twenty four hours, Canada had done all this within the twenty four hour time frame. If he does manage to kill him in the next two hours than he'd have no inkling of his murder when he woke up and that would mean Canada could potentially do this to him over and over and over again.

With some more tapping on his phone Canada began to read a different document.

"'Dear Mr. President. I apologize in advance for how informal this letter will sound but I'm afraid I have some bad news. The personification of America has fallen ill and will not be able to attend to his duties within the next week or so. Please do not fret for the illness was contacted by human means and not because of any problems within the country he represents. The illness is not severe but he will be until to work for the next _three _or _four _days.'" Canada moved his eyes to lock with America's, the twinkle of excitement within them neigh impossible to miss. "'I'll make sure to take care of him to the best of my ability.'"

Immediately America reached into his pocket, hands searching for the pistol he never let leave his person but Canada had been anticipating this action. By the time his gloved fingers brushed against the familiar metal a thin steel knitting needle pinned his wrist to his abdomen. Before he could remove the needle, before he could even cry out, Canada was on top of him and a large knife was embedded deep into his chest. All America managed before the white shaded pain shackled his body was a small 'hrk'. He tried to scream, he _wanted _to scream but the metric crimson rapidly filling his mouth stole it in a gurgle of sweet tasting bubbles.

It was in that moment, that moment when the purest of pain kept his body still, the blood in his mouth asked for his silence and the punctured lung stopped his breath did he come across an uplifting revelation. All this planning, all this work and all these careful calculations wasn't about Canada killing America or even Matthew Williams killing Alfred F. Jones. This was about Matthew Williams relaxing. Just as he would sometimes allow him to eat some of his victims, Alfred F. Jones had suddenly found himself in the position of helper or, moreover, assistant used to help achieve the highest level of Zen that Matthew could only feel when he killed. He was sure of this as soon as he felt Matthew's long steady exhale brush against the top of his head, forcing a few obedient strands to move aside.

Alfred leaned his head forward until it connected with Matthew's shoulder, the small act causing billions of imaginary needles to stab at his skin. Mentally he didn't care. He simply opened his mouth and allowed gravity to take the melted life from his lips. From the tip of the blade in his chest to the very ends of his fingers pleasure spread inside him. Be it his own blood or others, the taste electrifying the buds on his tongue always calmed him down. He knew that Matthew was the only person that respected him for that and for that reason and that reason alone he was perfectly content with stepping down and becoming his sidekick. If not only for the time it took for the white pain to fade into black numbness.

Matthew spoke. "I always thought you'd be louder in your last moments."

Alfred gathered enough strength to reply back as his spiteful, but playful elder twin. "Fuck you."

He couldn't see it but he knew his words had made Matthew's lips curl into a sweet smile.

Matthew twisted the blade.

/ / / \ \ \

"Dude, the _weirdest _thing happened to me." It had been a week since America had woken up and even with all the water and meditation he had taken there was still that dull ache in the back of his skull.

Not very interested but obliged by politeness Lithuania egged, "What happened?"

"I'm not a hundred percent but I think I died or something." America winced against a sudden throb in his head and he took a mighty swig of his water bottle in an attempt to drown it.

"_What? _How?" Lithuania hurriedly questioned, surprised. Though not the most shocking news a nation could tell another, it had become increasing less frequent since the end of the Second World War.

America shrugged, pressing a palm against his forehead and smiling with slight sheepishness. "No idea. Nothing I can remember points to anyone _planning_ to kill me so I must have been jumped in a back ally or something." He shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal and the faint relaxing of Lithuania's shoulders agreed with him.

"I would not be so sure my little American friend," sang a passing Russia. "I'm sure there are many people would like the mighty America to just _go away, _da?"

America laughed. "I don't worry about that shit! I'm sure you wouldn't let any one of those guys kill me until you have, right?"

Russia simply smiled and hummed a pleasant sounding song as he walked on, casually spinning his infamous steel pipe as he went.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?" Canada asked, making America jump at his forgotten presence. "No one will blame you if you want to go lay down or—"

America cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Nah seriously bro I'm fine! What kind of hero would I be if I wouldn't handle dying a few times?"

Matthew smiled. "Not a very good one." He agreed, glad to know his brother would be able to help him relax again in the near future.


End file.
